Not His Style
by piper maru duchovny
Summary: He's never been one for dancing but he would do anything to make her smile. - Monica/John set around IWTB.


**I have fallen completely back in love with The X-Files and, oh lord, do I love John and Monica even more this time around. The song 'I Don't Dance' by Lee Brice has become a favorite of mine recently and I accidentally constructed a world for John and Monica as I was listening to it for probably the one hundredth time.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own a damn thing.**

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_You took these two left feet,  
And waltzed away with my heart  
_-Lee Brice

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The wood burning stove cracked and popped when he walked in the door, bringing a gust of late fall night air with him. She was sitting at the dinner table with a quilt draped around her shoulders and her thumb nail running along the groove in the old oak table; her eyes lifted to meet his and a small smile turned the corners of her mouth toward the heaven. He slid out of his coat and hung it in a hook beside the door before crossing the room to press a kiss to the crown of her head. "Hey beautiful."

"John," she sighed his name. Her fingers curled around his bicep and she leaned back against his chest for a moment, relishing in his natural body heat, before she turned her head up to smile at him. "There's dinner in the fridge if you're hungry."

He sat down across from her and took her hand in both of his, drawing it to his lips to press a kiss to the palm. "It will keep. How was your day?"

"Good," she promised and curled her fingers around his. Her free hand toyed with her curls; since they had left the bureau she had grown her hair out, it was halfway down her back and usually a wild mess of raven curls. "That child of yours is something else though. We were out riding this afternoon and, John, I swear to god she got off her horse when we stopped at the river for them to drink and she was able to walk right up to one of those wild mustangs that were born last spring. I stood there stock still, ready to jump in when this thing tried to kick her across the field, but she just stood there petting and talking to it like it was her best friend."

"She's definitely your daughter."

They had left the bureau together not long after Mulder and Scully. The x-files had been shut down once again, permanently this time, and Gibson Praise had needed round the clock protection – the kind that they were in the position to offer him. He had stayed with them until his eighteenth birthday and he still stayed close with them to that day, he had attached to John in particular and filled a hole in his heart that had been left by Luke. Montana had been kind to them; they had settled on a small ranch far from any metropolis and not far from the Canadian border, just in case. The first year had been spent in a small trailer while John had built their small cabin by hand. It had taken some acclimation but the ranch provided them with busy work and Skinner called them in as consultants from time to time so they didn't completely lose their minds.

"How were they," she asked quietly.

"Fine," he promised. "Mulder got his official exoneration papers last week; the freedom is a little overwhelming I think, Dana said somethin' 'bout the effects of prolonged isolation. She's been working on some rough cases – they're lookin' to get away for awhile. I told 'em that they were welcome here whenever they wanted but I think they're looking to head somewhere a little warmer."

Monica grinned. "I do miss the warmth."

"We'll all have to go next time," John suggested. "They haven't met Selah yet."

"She's already five, John."

He nodded. "You, me, Selah, and maybe even Gibson will have to take a trip back east."

"They're really okay? Because when I spoke to Skinner on the phone he said that Mulder had got his ass handed to him by some pretty troublesome people."

"They're really okay, Mon. He's got a new scar added to his collection but he's fine. I even got him and Scully to help me with my consult this time."

Monica grinned. "Alright, alright."

"She asleep?" John stood from the table and crossed the room to the small record player that sat on top of the cabinet he used to hold his collection.

"After the exciting day that she had, she fell asleep in her mashed potatoes."

He plucked a dust covered record jacket from the collection and shook it until the vinyl fell into his hand; he placed the disc on the player and lowered the needle, the soft clicks and pops giving way to Johnny Cash's deep vibrato. John gave her a crooked grin and nodded his head in her direction. "C'mere, baby."

"You gonna dance, cowboy," she asked with a soft grin.

He shook his head. "I still don't like to dance."

"Don't stop you from tryin'," she told him. She crossed the wooden floor to wrap her arms around his neck and lean into his shoulder.

He kissed her jaw. "I only dance because you like dancin'."

"I love you, John Doggett."

His hum was deep in his throat and she pressed a kiss to the base of his throat, just above his clavicle. "I'm glad about that."

She stepped lightly on his toe.

"I love you, too, Monica."

They had never married, it simply seemed like an unnecessary extravagance when they knew what they were to each other, but on the night that they'd moved from that starter trailer to the house they had made their own set of vows to each other. John fulfilled his in the grooves that his boots had worn grooves in their wood floors from their nightly routine and Monica lived her own with every beat of her heart.

"I don't dance," he whispered in her ears. "You're worth the effort though."

"You can't dance," she countered. "Baby, I love you but you were born with two left feet."

"And still we find ourselves here for the thousandth time."

Monica kissed the underside of his jaw. "Because you love me."

"Because I love you," he reiterated.

Monica looked around their home and smiled at the way their lives had fallen together. Their angel stood in the loft off the living room with sleepy eyes, dark hair in complete disarray, and her beloved teddy bear – a gift from Gibson on the day she was born that had become her security item. She caught John's eye and nodded her head toward the loft. "We have an audience."

"Hello darlin'," John called to her. He let go of his wife and crossed the ladder that lead to the loft before beckoning for her to come down to him.

She tucked her teddy under her arm and made her way down the ladder to her daddy's awaiting arms. "I can't sleep."

"Neither can me and mama," he told her. "Wanna dance with us?"

"Will you hold me tight please, daddy," she asked as she locked her free arm around his neck.

He kissed her forehead. "I will."

"Can't sleep," Monica asked her little girl as she brushed the hair back from her forehead.

Selah shook her head. "Need mama and daddy."

"You've got us," Monica promised and kissed the shell of her ear. She tilted her head to smile at her husband. "Dance us to sleep, cowboy."

"As you wish."

The record was a mix of old country songs, some compilation that his mother had bought when he was just a child, and was full of songs that he used to use as lullabies first for Luke and then for Selah. Hank Williams' joined by the Carter family filled the room with an old hymn as he wrapped his arms around his girls as he began to sing. "Praise the lord, I saw the light."

It didn't take long for Selah to drift off on his shoulder and, rather than try to get her back into her loft, he settled her on the couch before covering her with several quilts. Monica watched with a soft grin as he kissed their daughter's forehead and promised her the protection of an army of angels before locking the door, checking the fire, and turning off the record player. She dropped a kiss of her own to Selah's hair and tucked her a little tighter before turning to her partner. "What if I wasn't done dancing?"

He gave her a grin, that crooked one that made her go weak in the knees, and beckoned her with a curled finger. "I know a different kind of dancin' that I am much better at."

"John Jay," she scolded but laughed quietly.

He shook his head at her then crossed the room quickly to scoop her up in a bridal hold. Their bedroom sat just off the living room and he carried her to their bed where he dropped her unceremoniously across the foot, quickly following her down to press soft kisses to her neck. "Dancin' is just a conversation between two people, talk to me."

She laughed again; her fingers curled at the collar of his flannel shirt and she pulled him up so she could kiss his mouth as she rolled them over to bracket his hips with her knees. "Then let's dance."


End file.
